


Light and Ashes

by Zdenka



Category: The Golden Age - Woodkid (Song)
Genre: Gen, background het and slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a time when the King was always victorious and a peaceful village dreamed in safety. That time is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light and Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boywonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/gifts).



> [Lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/woodkid/thegoldenage.html) and [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWxyQlWolTI).

The King rode north with all his army in early spring. The last snow still clung to the crevices of the rocks, and a sheen of ice glittered from the castle’s highest spires. The King’s banner and the bright banners of all his knights flew in the wind, and the feet of his soldiers struck the earth like a dull drumbeat. The townsfolk lined the streets to watch them pass by, while the noble ladies bent down from their windows and balconies with smiles and laughter. They had no fear. _The sword of the King is victorious_ ; so said the songs of the bards. All knew how the King had triumphed in a hundred battles, how his knights had maintained the peace of the realm and guarded its borders for a generation. The people watched the King ride forth, then returned to their work and waited for news of victory. No one imagined that the King could fall, that the borders could crumble.

In a village of this kingdom there lived a farmer’s wife named Aithra, whose husband was called away to the war like so many others. They bade each other farewell before the house, while the wind stirred up swirls of snow from the ground. There was a skin of ice in the watering trough, and they had to break it so his pony could drink. Their son blinked back tears, but their daughter, who was too young to understand, spun in circles and tried to catch the snowflakes. Aithra wanted to watch him go until distance took him from her, but she did not; she took her children back inside the warm house. He would come back, she told herself. Surely by the time the golden grain swayed tall in the fields; and they would harvest it together.

When word came of the King's defeat, she could not believe it. It was a thing impossible, remote as a story of ancient times. Rumors came trickling back to her of the terrible battle, of fire that lashed across the sky; of a struggle at the very gates of the ancient royal city; of how this lord or that had turned traitor after the King's fall, striving for power. She did not know how to sift true from false. When she lay in bed at night, sleep did not come easily. Perhaps catching her unease, her daughter would sometimes creep out of bed and sit by the hearth. When her mother found her there, the child said she was waiting for her father. "He will come back," Aithra told her, telling herself as well. "Only not yet. Come back to bed."

One morning when she awoke early, Aithra put on her cloak and walked around the house as if on guard. When she came close to the barn, she noticed the animals seemed restless, the milk cow and the sturdy horse used for plowing. Her heart beat faster, though she told herself she was being as foolish as the child. Cracking the door open, she was startled to find a stranger curled up in the straw. He seemed equally startled, sitting up and sliding back against the wall. “I am sorry,” he said. “I meant to be gone before anyone was awake. I will go.”

A boy, she thought at first, seeing his beardless face; the men of the village did not shave their faces once they were of age. When he stood, she saw that he was older than she had thought, with a young man's height and broad shoulders. His hair was long like a knight’s and tied back with a worn ribbon. His clothing was ragged and dusty; there was a torn patch on the shoulder where once a badge of the King’s forces might have been.

“You will wait until I milk the cow,” she said. “And then you will come to the house and have some food before you go.” He nodded agreeably. He offered to help her carry the milk pails, which she approved of, though she did not need it.

She watched the young man while he ate, and considered. “What is your name, and where do you come from?”

“Hesperion. I lived in the royal city. But those I knew are not there now.”

“Do you have somewhere to go?” He looked blank. “I am short of hands to do the work now,” she said. “We all are. If you will work, you can stay.”

He ducked his head. “I have never been a farmer, but I will do it if you will show me how.”

She kept a close eye on him at first, especially when he was around the children. But he remained polite and quiet, worked hard, and did nothing to cause her worry. In the evening, sometimes he would tell stories to the children, painting pictures with his words. She found herself drawn in also, her mending forgotten in her hands. They heard of the King’s court: the towers with graceful spires reaching skyward, the gardens adorned with trees and flowers from every land, the Great Hall where the King sat in state, lit by golden lamps that shone like the sun. He told them also of the banquets attended by lords and ladies in brilliant robes, where the King’s enchanters filled the hall with fountains of many-colored light to the music of lutes and viols. But when her son asked eagerly about the King’s knights or the preparations for the war, he fell silent and would not answer.

Once he broke off a description of the King’s last name-day feast to add, “It is all gone now. When one of the King’s generals retreated, he had his soldiers take everything of use from the castle. He was always the practical sort. But some of the garrison tried to stop him, and some joined in, and it turned into looting. I don’t know who set the fire, and whether it was purposeful or an accident. The castle is still there, unless someone has pulled the walls down, but it is filled with ashes.”

Aithra saw her children’s eyes grow very wide, and took them off to bed. When she returned, he was twisting a lock of hair between his fingers, light as his was dark and fastened with a silver thread. It seemed his people followed the same custom as hers, giving such tokens to ensure a loved one’s safety in battle or on a journey. Her husband had marched north with a small braid of her own hair tucked inside his tunic.

“Your wife?” she asked.

He gave a small smile. “He was banner-bearer to one of the King’s knights.”

“And is he—?“

His hand tightened on the lock of hair but he did not answer.

It was not until the next night that she said to him, “You were at the battle in the north, where the King fell.”

“Yes.”

“My husband was there also.” Hesperion was silent. “I do not expect you to tell me what became of him, since he was only one soldier in such a vast army. But perhaps you might know whether the knight he followed returned safely or not.” 

“And who was that?”

“He was called to the banners of the lord here, the Knight of Aithalos.”

He bowed his head. “I am sorry,” he said. “If your husband was with his lord, he is no longer alive.”

She was pierced with a needle of ice. “You are so certain?”

“That knight and his following were caught by the enemy’s enchanters,” he said. “I saw the ground afterward where they had fought. You do not know, as I do, what such enchantments can do when unloosed. Forgive me for being the bearer of ill news.”

“You don’t know that!” she said. “You don’t know. He could still be safe.”

He said nothing. She turned away and ordered him from the room, but she knew then in her heart that the golden harvest she dreamed of would never come.

She awoke one night to find her daughter not beside her. She wrapped herself in a shawl and went to the main room. It was not a surprise to see the girl curled up by the hearth, wrapped in a blanket. But Hesperion was there also, seated a short distance away from her with his back to a wall. To her amazement, colored lights flew about him like fireflies. They shifted color as she watched, from blue to green to rose to gold and back again. He was singing softly. For a moment it seemed to her that he sang with a woman’s voice, though that did not seem possible, and then she was not certain; it wavered in her perception between higher notes sung by a man and lower notes sung by a woman. It seemed to fit with the beauty and strangeness of the floating lights.

He looked up as she entered the room but did not stop his singing, until he reached the end of a verse. Then the lights flew back to his hands, folded into themselves, and vanished. 

“What was that?” she asked softly.

“The girl said she had a nightmare. I thought it might soothe her.”

“An enchantment? You worked magic on my daughter?”

He spread his hands. “No, not so. The enchantment was only the lights. It can do no more.”

She moved to her daughter protectively and knelt beside her. Her daughter was asleep, her chest rising and falling with peaceful breathing. She stroked the girl’s hair; she murmured something indistinct but did not wake. Aithra gathered her daughter in her arms and carried her to bed.

When she returned, Hesperion had not moved from his place. “Tell me more of this enchantment,” she said. “Was the song part of it?”

“It is only an illusion. A petty trick, they would say at court. But it seems to me that making lights to amuse a child is a better use of enchantment than some other things I have done. And the song was only a song.”

“I have not heard it before.”

“It comes from farther north. My mother used to sing it to me. Though I have forgotten most of the words. It was something about a golden bird.”

The song had sounded sad, she thought, as if it spoke of something long vanished. “Will you show me the lights again?”

He held out his hands. A colored spark grew into the dancing circles she had seen before. She put out a hand, then hesitated. “Is it safe to touch them?”

“It is safe. These lights can do no harm. Though there are other enchantments more deadly.”

She let one of the lights touch her fingers; it passed through her hand like a shadow. There was no substance to them; a trick, as he had said. Still, they were beautiful. She stood watching them, until something else caught her eye. One sleeve of Hesperion’s loose shirt had fallen back, and she saw that a wide, shiny pink scar ran up the outside of his arm from forearm to elbow. 

“Your arm—did you burn it?”

He glanced down. “That happened long ago.” He closed his hands and the dancing lights winked out abruptly. He pulled his sleeve to cover his arm again. “I have said, not all enchantments are so harmless.”

In spite of grief and doubt for the future, seed had to be put in the ground if they were to live. They were in the midst of spring planting when the silence was shattered by a harsh, ominous horn call. Hesperion froze. The horn call came again, and then there was the sound of hoofbeats from the direction of the road.

Aithra look up. “It sounds like they’re going toward the manor.” With the angle of the road, they could not see the riders. Hesperion was still frozen in place. She frowned at him. “It has nothing to do with you. Why should it?”

“I suppose this had to happen,” he said very quietly. “I was wrong to think that even a place like this could be peaceful when everything else has changed.”

“What is it? Who do you think those riders are?”

“Does it matter who they are? They are the first. Only the first. They ride for some lord or commander who wants to carve out a smaller kingdom for himself, now that the King has fallen.”

“You can tell all that from the sound of a horn?”

He gave an uneasy laugh. "I was foolish to think they were looking for me. Though they would try to capture me if they knew I was here."

She stared. “Why should they look for you? Are they your enemies?"

“To use me.”

She did not understand. “But why?”

“Because I am a weapon.” His jaw snapped shut on the last word.

She found his words incomprehensible, but they made her uneasy. "I do not think they have any business with you or me," she said firmly. “Whoever they may be, there is work to be done.” Hesperion returned to his work, but with continual glances in the direction the riders had gone.

In the evening, they found out the truth of the matter. Affected by Hesperion’s unease, Aithra went to seek out a friend who was a servant at the manor. She did not need to go so far; there were knots of people gathered in the street, talking in hushed voices.

She returned home and made sure the children were out of earshot before telling Hesperion what she had learned. “All the village is talking about it,” she said numbly. “Some say they are former knights and some say they are bandits, but they came to demand gold from the seneschal.”

He was very tense. “The seneschal? Who rules here now?”

“You know that our lord rode north with the King. His brother and his brother’s son went with him too, and they never returned. The next heir is some sort of cousin, but he dwells far away, and he cares little for a small village such as this. The former lord’s seneschal has been tending the manor and the village.” 

“Do you think he will give them what they ask?”

She shook her head. “He is an old man, loyal and stubborn. He would think it wrong to give in to threats and squander what belongs to his lord. But I do not think he can, even if he would. It is too much. I do not think the manor’s treasury holds half the sum.”

He looked grim. “If they are the sort of men I think, they will not take kindly to a refusal.”

“Some say they have threatened to burn the village. Or sack the manor. Or start killing people of the village until the seneschal gives in.” Her hands clenched in her skirts. “Hesperion, you have been to war. Can we fight them? Will they come after us if we run away? They might still burn the village, but better to lose our houses than our lives.”

He looked very grim, but she saw that he was shaking. “Perhaps,” he said. “When will they return for an answer?”

“In three days. And that much I am sure of.” 

The next day, Hesperion was pale but very calm. “Tell the people of the village: when the day comes, they should all go up into the hills. I will stop the riders from pursuing them. They should wait a day and then return.”

“Hesperion –“ She looked at him with dismay. “You do not mean to fight them alone, against so many? If it is better to fight, at least let some of us go with you and defend our homes.”

“I have little skill with the sword,” he said. “I fought in another manner, and that I cannot teach you. I cannot always control it myself. If I fail, or if some of them escape – I do not know. You must judge what it is best to do. But I wish you and your children to be at a distance when I do what must be done.”

“How will you do this?” she persisted. “Do you have some enchantment?”

He nodded gravely. “Do not fear,” he said. “All will be well.”

It seemed unfair that the day of the encounter should be so beautiful. It was clear and sunny, with a hint of a breeze blowing. Aithra had passed on Hesperion’s warning to the others, though she could not tell them exactly what he meant to do.

When she tried to lead her children out of the house, her son resisted and ran back to Hesperion. “Let me go with you!” he said fiercely. “I want to help.”

Hesperion gave a small smile. “Go with your mother, boy.” 

“Will you come back?” he asked anxiously. “Promise you’ll come back.”

Hesperion ruffled the boy’s hair lightly. “Go.”

He went reluctantly, still looking backward. As they passed the gate, Aithra heard the harsh horn calls in the distance. “Come now,” she said to her children. “We must run.”

They paused at the crest of the hill and looked down. Aithra could see the soldiers’ horses and the gleam of sunlight on their armor. There was a strand of cherry trees in bloom at the top of the hill. Her daughter laughed and spun, trying to catch the drifting petals. She tried to brush away the ones caught in the child’s hair, but her daughter would not hold still long enough.

When she looked down the hill again and saw Hesperion’s figure walking toward the others, she grabbed her son’s arm in one hand and her daughter’s hand in the other. She pulled them into the grove of cherry trees and made them lie flat. “Keep your heads down,” she said fiercely, “and don’t look up, no matter what happens!”

But she could not keep from looking herself. She peered out from behind one of the cherry trees, its bark pressed against her cheek. There was a flash of silver – the soldiers had drawn their swords. And then there was another, stranger flash of light, and a column of twisted white fire climbed to the heavens. A hot breeze blew past her face, stirring up dust and bits of grass; she instinctively brought up her arm to shield her eyes. After a moment she lowered her arm again, straining to see through the clouds of dust and billowing smoke. When something touched her cheek, she brushed it away without looking. But it was not a cherry petal. It smeared against her fingers, leaving a smudge of grey. From the sky, soft flakes of ash were falling, like snow, like the cherry blossoms, covering the grass all around.

**Author's Note:**

> The names are from Ancient Greek and were chosen to go with the themes of light and decay. Hesperion means "at evening" or "western." Aithra means "clear or bright sky." Aithra was also the mother of Theseus in Greek mythology.


End file.
